


Morning Run

by meangreenlimabean



Series: Glimpse from Outside [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s07e06 Slash Fiction, Evil Sam Winchester, F/M, POV Outsider, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meangreenlimabean/pseuds/meangreenlimabean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am currently fascinated with how outsiders might see Sam & Dean.  This is a one shot of someone who crossed paths with Soulless!Sam.  I'm thinking of doing a few more of these short outsider POV fics, let me know what you think of this one!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Run

There were only two cars in the parking lot when I pulled in. Not surprising, since it was before dawn, and not many people chose to pay extra for twenty-four hour access to the gym. One of the cars probably belonged to Wayne. He had retired from my precinct a few years ago. Like me, he doesn't like small talk, so we both exercise outside regular hours to avoid the crowd.

It was starting to drizzle, so I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my hair. I ran up the stairs to the main entrance and jammed my keycard in the slot. Once inside, I brushed myself off and waved to Wayne on the treadmill. "Morning," I called.

"Beautiful weather," he puffed, without slowing his pace.

I scribbled my name on the sign-in chart, along with the time, 4:12am. "Who else is here?" I asked over my shoulder.

Wayne shrugged. "Haven't seen anyone come in, but I was in the weight room for a bit."

I pulled up the memory of the third car. "There's a two-door sedan in the lot; dark blue, late nineties build?"

He frowned thoughtfully. "It's not familiar. You get the plates?"

I mentally kicked myself. "No."

Wayne tapped his head with a finger. "I'll keep an eye out." I breathed a sigh a relief. His cop mentality hadn't lost its edge since he'd retired. If there was something fishy, he'd catch it. I liked Wayne because he didn't patronize me. I was closer to forty than thirty now, but I looked younger. I didn't always get taken seriously by my peers.

I made a detour through the ladies room to pin my hair back and leave my things in a locker. Then I headed to the indoor track. I used to prefer running outside, but lately I can't relax with so many unknown variables around; too many places for someone to hide and ambush me.

I stretched my legs on the bench. If I didn't warm up properly, old injuries would ache after a few laps and I'd have to cut my run short. I swung my arms in wide loops, working the kinks out of my shoulders and back. The impending rain made my left hip throb. I rubbed the scar, trying to ignore that memory.

The first lap I walked. I reminded myself not to rush it, or I'd hurt later. The second lap I jogged. Some days I worry I'll never pass my physical and get out from behind a desk. The next lap I broke into a light run. My body was starting to warm, the stiffness fading from my joints.

As I finished the third lap, I saw a man sitting on the bench by the door, trying his shoes. He didn't look my way, so I quickly assessed him. He was tall, even seated that much was obvious, probably in his mid-twenties. He was absolutely ripped; his shoulders bulged under his thin gray tee. He had brown hair, longer than mine, pushed behind his ears. He looked up as I approached, and I nearly tripped. Holy hell, was he hot. Dark hazel eyes and a model's face. He didn't smile, but those eyes followed me as I ran past. I was going to walk the next lap, but my ego made me keep running.

I did another half lap, then slowed to a brisk walk. I wanted to glance back but I didn't dare. Besides, I would hear his feet. I walked the rest of that lap, then stopped at the bench to peel off my hoodie. He was gone. I took a drink from the fountain, and that's when I heard his footsteps approaching. I casually turned as he jogged by. His eyes were on me, and it struck something in my gut. The way he observed, he was no regular citizen. For a second I hoped he was a new hire at my precinct, but no, I'm never that lucky.

When he was out of sight again, I started to run my fifth lap. I heard pounding feet, and I sped up. For a while I stayed ahead of him without trying too hard, but I could hear him closing in. I stretched my legs into a longer gait and pulled ahead. I smiled. Guys like him usually sacrifice cardio for muscle mass.

He surprised me when he started to catch up. Was he messing with me? I pulled my core in tight and kept my breath steady. He might be younger than me, but I wasn't going down without a fight.

He closed the gap quicker than I hoped, but then he kept pace with me. I couldn't stop smiling as I glanced over. "Not bad," I told him. He laughed. I sped up a little, and so did he. He was sweating. Surely he couldn't maintain this speed much longer. We rounded the next lap and he fell behind. I slowed to a jog and turned. He had his hands on his knees, breathing hard. I raised one fist in the air. "Next time, pretty boy," I teased. He grinned. Then I turned and jogged away.

When I came back around, he was nowhere in sight. I was a little disappointed, but mostly just relieved to have the track to myself again. I finished two more laps to make a mile, then walked one more to cool down before heading to my next routine.

Wayne was no longer on the treadmill as I cut through the main area on my way to the weight room. I wrapped my hands, pulled on some thin gloves, then squared up against my favorite punching bag.

I started with straight punches, humming under my breath. I had just switched to left and right jabs when I heard the door swing open. I glanced at the mirrored wall from the corner of my eye. Crap. I gave the bag an uppercut and turned. "Hi again," I said, short of breath.

He nodded, walking toward me. His eyes were dark but so intelligent. Some people might see his good looks and write him off as dumb, but that was obviously wrong. He took in his surroundings, noticing everything, like me. Definitely not a civilian.

"What's your name," I said, not making it a question. He cocked his head to the side. "I didn't see your name on the sign-in board," I explained.

He almost seemed irritated at this, but he walked over and extended his hand. "I must have forgotten. I'm Rob," he told her, "Rob Steinhardt."

I took his hand, forgetting I had gloves on. "Lori Clayton," I introduced myself. "Your name sounds familiar. You from around around here?"

"No, I'm not. Just in town for a while." He didn't offer more than that.

"Business or pleasure?" I questioned.

He raised his brows, impressed by my boldness. I almost expected him to say 'both.' He smiled. "I'm here on a job," he said evasively.

That didn't sit right with me. "A job?"

He saw he wasn't going to get away with this mysterious act. "I'm consulting with the police."

I felt my eyes widen. "Really? On which case? I haven't seen you around."

He blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly. "The missing college students," he said.

I knew instantly which case he was referring to. Four kids had gone AWOL in the last month, and no bodies had turned up. I hadn't known the department had called in outside help. Still, it eased my mind to have a better idea of who he was.

He looked me over again. "I haven't seen you around, either."

"I'm on desk duty. For the time being, at least. Got injured on the job a few months ago."

"You seem in pretty good shape now." The look in his eyes made my stomach go all tingly.

"I think so, but I haven't got the green light yet. I hope it's soon, I really hate paperwork."

He nodded. "I bet you're just itching to see some action."

Oh Lord. I was afraid that if I tried to answer, my voice would crack like a preteen boy. I chewed on my lower lip, smiling.

Before you could say 'impulsive decisions,' we were in the ladies locker room pulling each other's clothes off. He kissed me hard and fast. His body was perfection, I wanted to climb him like a tree. We were both shiny with sweat. I let him pin me up against the wall, and I grabbed fistfulls of his hair as he pounded into me. I was glad the building was empty so no one could hear our screams.

He left me to shower in private, with an agreement that we'd act professional if we ran into each other later at the precinct. I scrubbed up quickly, then pulled my bag from the locker and dressed in my work clothes.

I spotted him on the weight bench as I left. He was bench pressing what appeared to be over 200 pounds, and he didn't see me. On my way through the parking lot, I jotted down his license plate number. The benefit of being stuck at a desk was that I could do a little research on the side.

It was a busy morning, and the hours flew by. I was focused intently on my computer screen when a woman's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Clayton?"

I turned my chair. "Yes, Sergeant."

She sat on the edge of my desk, her voice hushed. "There's a federal agent here to see you."

Concerned, I sat up straighter. "What?"

She gave me an odd look. "He's here regarding the university missing persons, but I think this might be unrelated."

I glanced around until I spotted him. My jaw dropped. He wore a suit and tie, and it was almost hotter than seeing him naked. Almost. He was at the reception desk. Two of my coworkers, Diaz and Bennett, were already edging in. I felt a pang of jealousy. They were both in their twenties, and both very attractive. Anthony Diaz was dark haired with big brown eyes, and Kristen Bennett was a blonde with nice curves.

Agent Steinhardt noticed me walking over. "Excuse me," he said to his admirers, pushing past them. They both looked confused that he was blowing them off for me. "Officer," he greeted me. We walked a little way down the hall. "I wanted to let you know I'm headed out," he said.

"Already? What about the college kids?"

"They don't need me after all. I'm leaving town later on today." He locked onto me with those smoldering eyes. "What time do you get out of here?"

I frowned. "I'm scheduled till seven." I saw his gaze flicker back to his groupies. I thought fast. "But I do have a break coming up."

We spent my lunch break in a storage room of the basement. There wasn't time to undress, but he bent me over a filing cabinet and we both got what we wanted. I was grateful they hadn't installed cameras down here.

I left first, while he waited behind so no one would get suspicious. As soon as I got back to my desk, Sergeant had a new pile of forms that needed my urgent attention. I never saw him again.

Well, not in person, that is. Almost two years later, I saw his face on the whiteboard during our weekly briefing. My insides went cold when I recognized the photograph. His name was not Rob, and he'd never been a federal agent. He was a serial killer. In case I had any doubts he was the same guy, there was video footage of him and his brother murdering a diner full of people.

I was too shocked to speak up. No one else seemed to recognize his face, but then, no one had spent as much time with him as I did. After we were released, I found an empty computer to do a little digging. I searched for Robert Sineheart, Bob Stinehurt, every variation and spelling I could think of. None of them seemed right. I finally struck paydirt on Robby Steinhardt. When I first clicked the name, I thought it was dead end. Just another fake name. But something bugged me. I went back to the conference room and looked over the whiteboard again.

I debated telling anyone. It was risky. If people asked too many questions, it could ruin my reputation. I could not lose this job. I decided to sleep on it. I didn't actually get any sleep that night, but I went in to work the next day determined to do the right thing.

Lucky for me, I never had to. The brothers had been the previous evening in Iowa, and mysteriously died in holding during the night. I kept my mouth shut as the Sergeant pulled their photos off the board.

No one has ever pulled one over on me like that before or since. I tell myself it's made me a better cop, less trusting and naive. I still dream about him. The dreams aren't entirely bad, but I always wake up in a sweat, with the nagging feeling that we missed something important.

**Author's Note:**

> A gold star to anyone who figures out the significance of the name.


End file.
